Artless Rose
by Cafe Blue
Summary: It's been 2 years and Jack Dawkins has managed to escape imprisonment. Now, his only goal is to return home to England and pursue his true profession. However, this ambition is called into question when he is confined to a ship with Rose Maylie, the virtuous and innocent caretaker of his old friend, Oliver. Is her affection enough to change his mind? (Loosely inspired by 'Titanic')
1. The Gamble

**A/N: **In this version Miss Rose is Oliver's cousin and not yet married to Harry Maylie. This takes place about two years following the events of the original story, placing Dodger's age at around 17.

* * *

><p><strong>Artless Rose<strong>

Chapter I

The Gamble

_"No matter whether you believe in luck or chance, the final decision is from yourself." _

_-Stephen Richards_

-.-.-.-

_Sydney, Australia – February 27__th,__ 1839_

What a magnificent stroke of fortune it was to be walking free once again after a full two years of the _finest_ education to be had! A pleased smirk crossed the face of the formerly known Artful Dodger as he strolled leisurely down the smoothed dirt path towards the neighboring settlement.

He'd ditched his prison attire for something less conspicuous, and carried nothing within his hands but a single apple, which he tossed absently, eyes fixed on the horizon ahead and the setting sun. He'd need to find somewhere to bunker down for the evening.

He'd been venturing for a full day, trying to put some reasonable distance between himself and the cages he'd ditched. It'd all started common enough, they were moving locations in the early morn, the sky all grey and cloudy-like. A lesser man might've taken the weather as a sign on its own, but Dodger had been keenly listening in on some bit of plotting and the rumors whispered when the guards were out of earshot.

Many of his fellows -the indigenous, angry natives that'd been caught only on account of overstepping the restrictions of the land which the high powered British had taken from them— had been covertly contacting their pals on the outside.

And an ambush was arranged.

The window had been small, only allowing a handful of minutes for chaos before the trappers would get backed. So Dodger began planning his own escape as he silently kept to himself. Just listening and seeming ignorant to all the hushed scheming.

It'd been tricky too, no doubt about it. If he'd been caught trying to get away, he'd either be shot dead right there or taken straight to the hanger's noose. But he hadn't earned his nickname for nothing. As soon as the confusion started, a crowd of twelve or so riled Australians ran towards the prison cars, and the guards briefly abandoned their duties to try and quell them, while also sounding the whistle for anyone nearby to offer aid. With a good bit of dynamite then, the caged doors were blown open, and Dodger snuck out right along with the six convicts.

But then he'd plunged and crawled under the car as gunshots rang out at the escapees, several dropping and others being set upon by the gathering crowd, who could most always be relied upon to rush towards and witness any sort of drama in their otherwise uneventful slice of heaven.

And it was through this crowd that Dodger made his escape. The trappers earnestly tried to keep them all back, but were met with quite a humorous bit of resistance. Dodger took advantage of an opening and fell right along in with the hoard, not running or shoving, but smoothly making his way through to an alley corner, where he intended to hide out until everything settled. He couldn't linger though, as the trappers would certainly send out searchers to try and nab the stragglers.

Once the shots settled and he saw four of the escapees lying dead, Dodger backed away, carefully muffling his steps. His priority was to escape the cuffs and get out of his prison clothes. He'd be a walking target otherwise.

He'd set about looking for a slim piece of wiring, anything sharp and slender enough to be used as a pick. The find came to him by way of a barbed wire fence surrounding the perimeter of a cattle den. Hiding behind a trough, he went about untwisting a choice section before shaping the end into a small circle. He inserted it into the lock of his cuffs and nimbly turned and pivoted the handmade pick until a clean snap sounded and his hands were freed. He threw the cuffs into the pasture and then moved away to pursue his next goal.

New clothing.

And that came from a beggar's bundle, left for the evening until its owner would return to sleep. It was only a holed blanket, but it would do. Dodger removed his overcoat and shoes and wrapped the blanket about himself. He then mussed his hair further and used a bit of mud to dirty his skin. No one would really look twice at a beggar.

He moved locations to a darker corner and huddled under the blanket, discarding his jacket and shoes in a hay cart. Adopting a miserable face in all of this was by far the height of his struggle, as a victorious smirk practically demanded he bring it forth for all the world to see.

But he'd wait, bide his time, and then he'd have a good strong laugh when he finally cleared the city limits. And laugh he did, as he was doing just that. When it got dark, and the chaos became nonexistent, he rose, blanket around him still, and made for the slums.

It was where the homeless population gathered around their fires to stay warm during the cold desert night. Dodger looked about for a victim and, once spotted, he threw his blanket over the man before going about taking his pants, jacket and battered shoes. The alcohol on his breath was potent, but a blessing. The slumberer couldn't be less aware.

Dodger swiftly changed, grabbed the hat from the man's head and then strode away, determining to leave the miserable place altogether. He walked right out and onto the long stretch of road, all tiredness warded by his enthusiasm.

He laughed, clear and loud, thrusting his hands into his pockets and looking to the clear sky above. He breathed in and felt a rush of the most indispensable emotion a man could feel: _freedom_.

And now, here he was, some twenty odd hours later, a bit tired and having finally reached the next settlement. He knew it'd take a fair bit longer for any wanted notices to be posted, and so he had a small amount of time on his side to go about determining an exit strategy.

He needed to leave this continent.

Biting into his apple, he devoured it quickly and then threw it into a bit of bramble shrubbery. He hated Australia. It was too unpredictable. Scorching hot during the day, and blood freezing by night. The plant life was dead and the whole society was painfully uncivilized. He missed London. It was doubtful he could return there anytime soon and, even if he did, he'd have to go into hiding. There'd be bulletins of his face all over the place.

No, he needed to try for a passenger ship. With so many settlers going this way and that, he reasoned it wouldn't be too hard to come by. All he'd need was to somehow scrounge up a ticket. And, to do that, he'd be relying on his reserve of latent skill.

The Artful Dodger was back in business.

He spotted a tavern and made towards it. He thrust open the saloon doors and walked to the counter with his chin held high. The place was horribly dank, but it was what he was used to. Places like this were comfortable. It was loud and lively, and Dodger smirked widely when the tender looked up to acknowledge his arrival.

"Can I get you anythin'?"

"Nothin' by way of a drink just now," Dodger responded as he sat himself on a stool. "But I'll take on some information if y'can offer it."

"Englishman," the bartender responded to his heavy accent. "What sort of information you need?"

"English to my blood," Dodger leaned forward. "An' aimin' to get back. Any word on a passenger sailer?"

"Yer a lucky devil. Two fellas happen to be bettin' a pair of tickets off in that corner there," he indicated the far side of the room. "If yer the gamblin' sort, I'd suggest payin' in and weighing your chances."

Dodger glanced back, a certain slyness taking his eyes as his brows raised. Then, with another look to the bartender, he nodded and tipped his hat. "Luck, indeed. I'm thinkin' I'll do that very thing."

His fingers itched then as he stood and strode across the room, strategically planning his crossing with that of a swaying gent, who ever so _conveniently _slammed into him. His demeanor turned apologetic and Dodger went about disentangling himself—and the man's generous contribution from the pocket of his coat—and steadying him out with outstretched arms.

"S-sorry," the drunkard slurred.

"No need to trouble yerself, it's no problem at _all_," he smirked, giving the man a firm pat, before striding to the gambler's circle. "D'yuh s'pose yuh gots room for another player, fellas?"

They looked up at him, weighed him with their eyes, and looked about to refuse until Dodger landed his newly acquired coin purse onto the table. Their expressions turned greedy and he hid his triumphant smirk, instead only staring expectantly down at them.

The burly man to his left kicked the chair out towards him and Dodger smoothly took the seat. Now, he wasn't much for gambling in general, but all he had to do was stick with it long enough for the winner to take a ticket. It would be child's play then as he'd resort to a classic picking of the pockets to claim it as his own.

At least he recognized the game. Poker. Pure and simple. He could stick with it. The dealer slid his stack of cards over and he dropped his contribution to the pile at the center with but a glance to the ticket resting there amongst the lot of valuables.

It was to depart from Sydney at the end of the week and was set for the port of Southampton. He again hid his smirk. Why, it couldn't have been any more perfect if he'd planned it himself! Call it providence, luck, fate, whatever! Some greater power was smiling on him, and he intended to smile right back.

"Fold," he said a short bit after.

His peers poorly hid their delighted grins at his expense. They thought him inexperienced. A young, naïve fool who was ripe for their advantage. It was an all on open robbery. They would play perfectly into his hands though. Dodger knew enough about cards to keep up, and keep up he would. Right to the very end.

As the next hand was dealt, he added more of his coin into the pile, and saw as those tickets were betted back in. He drummed his fingers on the table, determining the next wisest move, before trading in three of his five card draw.

It was nothing pretty, only a pair of tens, but he had to look as if he were making an effort. And so he raised the deck two coins, and he received another set of grins. The others added to the pile and went about showing their hands. When he displayed his, the burly man to his left clapped him on the back.

"Don't get down! Keep at it, lad!"

Dodger glanced to him, forcing a nervous smile. "I reckon I'll get the hang of it 'fore too long."

"You reckon correctly, _I_ declare!"

And the game continued, as Dodger's coin purse dwindled. A couple men got up to leave after a good while, the tickets remaining where they were. It wouldn't be too much longer now. His sharp eyes kept those tickets in sight, and he patiently stuck with the game.

"All in," he declared finally, baiting the others to do the same and finally end it.

They exchanged a swift glance before the burly man nodded and added his remaining valuables to the pile. The ginger-haired gent across from him tried and failed to hide a victorious smile, before doing the same.

Dodger, however, maintained his straight face and revealed his cards. A full house. It'd been a lucky hand for sure, and even he wondered if this little game would actually turn in his favor, making things _that_ much easier.

The burly man sighed, obviously having hoped for a bluff, and threw down his pair of kings. They then looked to the third gentleman who opened up his hand to four of a kind. A definitive, winning hand. Dodger shrugged and shook his head. He faked a look of disappointment.

As the third gentleman moved to collect his winnings, the burly man stood angrily and slammed his hands down on the table. "I aim to see you was cheatin'! Ain't no one that lucky by fate."

"Haven't cheated a day in my life," red responded as he shoved the tickets into his coat pocket and went about placing the coinage into his own purse. "Fate's exactly what it was."

Burly's eyes burned with rage and he hastily grasped red by the collar of his shirt, "I oughta pummel y'for it and take it all for m'self anyhow!"

Dodger glanced between them and recognized an opportunity. This was it. He didn't need to go about following this man or anything of the like at all. This little scuffle would suit his purposes so much better. He saw that the bartender's attention was caught and all eyes were directed to the pair.

And so, falling in behind red, he grasped him firmly and looked to burly sternly. "How's about you two go and take this outside? There ain't nothin' proper 'bout throwin' punches in 'ere." As he was talking, he slipped a hand smoothly into the coat pocket of red and took one of the tickets for himself, as well as the coin purse. "Go on then," he stepped back and nodded towards the door.

Burly shook his head, "this ain't England, lad." Then, having declared his refusal, he swiftly delivered a punch to red's face, sending him flying back. Chaos followed and all around the men hollered and rooted them on. The bartender crossed his arms and shook his head, obviously used to brawling like this.

Dodger only shrugged and turned to saunter across the room. He approached the tender and dropped a coin onto the counter, "I'll take that drink now."

The man nodded and stepped forward, taking the payment and pocketing it. "What'll ye have?"

"Whiskey."

It took him only a moment before he slid the filled glass to Dodger, who took it and swigged the contents before handing it back over.

"Sorry 'bout your luck there with the tickets."

Dodger waved it off, awarding the man a smirk. "I've never been much for luck anyhow. Least not the sort I don't earn for m'self."

"Aye, well said."

The artful tipped his hat to him then, before turning to leave the bar altogether. He observed the scuffle was still in full swing and then continued on his way. Most likely, those men would think they'd lost their belongings in the midst of all the commotion, or that any of the several others might've lifted. However, he still wouldn't risk hanging about to find out.

He intended to put quite a distance between himself and them by the time they roused. He was dead tired, but that wouldn't be enough to keep him. More important things needed attending to. The next part of the plan would require a bit more craft. He had to head back to Sydney, avoid the traps, and catch the passenger ship to England.

He wouldn't worry too much on all that before its time though. For now, all he could do was admit that he might be converting to believing in a bit of luck after all. Sure, he'd taken the tickets of his own accord, but the brawl and even his own prison escape had been incredibly fortunate. Maybe it would stay with him and he'd find himself on that lovely bit of London soil before too long.

Life was all just a big gamble, wasn't it?

_To be continued…_


	2. Pearls and Lace

**Artless Rose**

Chapter II

Pearls and Lace

"_Love planted a rose, and the world turned sweet."_

_-Katharine Lee Bates_

-.-.-.-

The sound of a morning, chirping bird whistled through the window, and a soft, temperate breeze followed through. Paying neither any mind, the young woman sat before her vanity as she fussed with her hair after her maid had left the room. Just a few strands to secure in place and all would be perfection.

The activity was more subconscious than critical, as Rose Maylie was not the perfectionistic sort by any means. A pleasant smile found its way to her face and she hummed absently to herself. Perhaps she _did_ have more of a reason to concern herself with her appearance than she used to, as she would be entertaining both Harry and his mother's company during the early afternoon. However, this thought was not brought forth to the forefront of her mind, but was more an inner drive of which she was not entirely aware.

With a swift glance, she admired the engagement ring rested upon her finger, and thoughts of the fast approaching date accompanied her admiring scrutiny. Harry was nothing short of Prince Charming in the flesh, all her girlish fantasies seeming to have been brought to life. He was all properness and decorum, absolutely spectacular and gentlemanly. The years ahead would be spent in comfort and in an atmosphere of warmth. He delighted her.

"Madam," Mrs. Bedwin began as she came through the door. "We've set about cooking the duck for luncheon and began preparing the trays of t-" Her eyes widened and her words fell short as she observed that her mistress was still donned in only a nightgown. "By heavens! You need to make yourself presentable. We've only a short time until your intended's arrival."

But Rose only giggled, releasing her excitement, before obligingly standing and offering the poor woman a nod, a graceful and apologetic smile accompanying it. "Of course, Mrs. Bedwin. Uhm," she spun and ventured to her modest-sized closet. "I was thinking the pale yellow, though I know the color is a bit premature of the approaching spring season."

"Well," the older woman grumbled as she began to help her mistress into the new garment. "It's so warm here in this part of the world, wearing a spring gown will not seem so inappropriate."

Rose giggled, "yes, that's true. Harry had warned me of that."

Australia was an interesting sort of place. It had only recently begun paving its way into modern society, most of the place still rural and uncivilized. However, the prospect greatly appealed to Harry and his pursuit to become a minister. He wanted to tend to the flock of souls who were undoubtedly in need of hearing the holy Word.

He had been offered an opportunity to experience the new land for himself, and asked that his fiancée accompany him, so as he might ascertain if such a venture would also be agreeable to her. Mrs. Bedwin and his own mother appropriately joined them, along with a great many of his household staff. The wedding was not to be postponed long, and their return to London would soon be followed by the impending ceremony. Mr. Brownlow was seeing to affairs concerning the preparations and Rose entirely trusted his ability to see to every matter needing attending to. She was overjoyed to return to both he and Oliver.

It had been a long three months.

She had not yet heard word of Harry's decision as far as permanent relocation, but would dutifully follow her husband's choice, whichever it would be. He respected her wholeheartedly and she could only offer the same courtesy. As much as she loved London and all her beloved friends and relations, she could find happiness in supporting Harry's goals for their future and within the strange, sun-soaked land they'd be prospectively occupying.

The coming weekend would mark their return, and her excitement was boundless. She intended to make the most of her time on European soil, as there was a possibility she would be leaving it again before too long. There was a certain level of adventurousness in that, in not knowing quite what to expect. It thrilled her.

"What do you think?" Rose spun to face Mrs. Bedwin. "Presentable enough?"

In truth, she personally adored the yellow gown. The color was pastel and refreshing, a shade both positive and inspiring. It was decorated with trimmings of lace around the bodice and along the hem, delicate and plainly sophisticated.

"Pearls," the woman replied with a self-assuring nod as she turned to retrieve the mentioned string of beading. She brought it forth then and fastened the necklace around Rose's neck before smiling. "Much better."

Rose grinned, the dimples in her cheeks prominent as her eyes shone. Observing her appearance in the full-length glass, she titled her head slightly. It was a charming, feminine ensemble, and she felt the swell of satisfaction within her chest. She was ready to entertain Harry.

"Come, Mrs. Bedwin," the spirited girl reached for the woman's hand and began leading her towards the door. "Let us go down together!"

The older woman shook her head at the silliness of her charge, but obliged all the same. They descended and situated themselves within the sitting room of the lodge. Rose gushed for the duration of the several passing minutes, chattering about the most recent letter she'd received from her uncle. Apparently he had finally coerced the Italian pastry chef to design the wedding cake, despite his many other orders for the month.

The footman then entered the room, took a bow, and announced that Harry and his mother were waiting in the foyer.

"Please send them in," Rose grinned widely, before standing alongside Mrs. Bedwin to receive their guests.

Harry entered a moment later, his grin widening to match Rose's as he strode forward to take her hand and place a chaste kiss upon it. She felt herself flush and tried to quell her pounding heart in reaction to his tender gaze as it lifted to meet hers.

"And how are you this fine day, my darling?"

"All the more wonderful now," Rose offered before gently pulling him down onto the seat beside her. She then shifted her gaze to his mother and nodded, "I'm glad to see you both."

The other woman, Mrs. Maylie, whom had taken in the orphaned Rose from a young age, tending and raising her before she had gone to stay with her uncle, Brownlow, offered the young woman a fond smile. She adored Rose and the union between she and her only son was a match made in heaven, in her own opinion.

She took to the armchair beside Harry, and opened her fan to ward off a heat spell. "We've been settling everything for our journey back at week's end. You can never quite determine how long all of it will take until you're actually in the midst of preparing."

Rose wistfully sighed and nodded, her brows knitting together slightly. "Sometimes it seems you never have time enough to get everything done."

And at that, Mrs. Bedwin rose and excused herself before returning with a tray laden with saucers of tea and biscuits. A short hour of small talk ensued, as they all ate from their snacks and speculated over the passenger ship they were to be boarding. Would it be spacious? Would there be too many of the rougher class?

Rose wasn't one to be prejudiced against the poor by any means, her soft heart often feeling empathy towards anyone who happened to find themselves within a dire situation. Harry was the same way, she had come to find, and it was something she admired. Far too many of her class were wrongfully critical of those whom they deemed beneath them.

However, that did not mean the thought of ruffians and brigands did not give her some small case of anxiety. And the prospect of being confined to a ship with a potential few of them was undeniably unsettling.

"Did you hear about the prison break the other morning?" Harry's mother began.

Rose's eyes widened, "Prison break?" That was definitely unsettling, thinking of any convicts potentially roaming the streets. "How many escaped? Were they able to reclaim them?"

Harry appeased her with an easy smile, placing his hand lightly over hers. "It was a small break-out. Contained, and with little damage. No officials were injured, though, regrettably some of the prisoners were shot down."

Rose inhaled slightly and Harry glanced to his mother.

"How many escaped?" He asked, tilting his head pensively.

"Six, I believe, while three or four were killed. All but one were reclaimed."

Mrs. Bedwin shook her head, "this place is practically wild."

Rose sighed at the expense of the older woman, understanding her intolerance. She had not agreed with this traveling arrangement at all, and only accompanied her charge to insure her safety, as being without her might place Rose in the path of harm.

"Well, there's no use worrying, is there?" She asked Harry. "Obviously our officers are more than capable of maintaining our security."

"Precisely, my dear," the man responded. "They'll manage to apprehend the escapee before too long, I imagine." He smiled, "and as for our journey, I doubt you have cause to worry yourself over that matter either. The ships are well-protected."

Mrs. Bedwin looked doubtful, but she determined that no one was willing to listen to her opinion as it was. She then clapped her hands together and excused herself, stating that she would check on the duck.

"Smells delightful," Harry's mother proclaimed.

Rose grinned, "Mr. Tipman is a wonderful cook. I am going to miss him when we leave here."

Harry glanced to her then, "well, there is still a chance we'll be coming back."

"Yes, that is true," Rose replied with a nod.

However, her fiancée then sighed, "but, as it stands, I am favoring our continued stay in London."

This news impacted Rose more greatly than she predicted it would, and her grin widened considerably. "Oh!" She laughed, "really?! That's terrific news."

Seeing her happiness, Harry's smile turned apologetic. "I do apologize for considering relocation."

"No need," Rose hastily assured him. "I would have been happy either way."

"Though it's apparent which option you favor."

She blushed, but shook her head stubbornly. "Wherever you go, I will willingly follow."

Harry's mother patted her son's arm, "no need to argue with her, dearest. Her devotion is an admirable quality in a wife."

After a moment of reluctance, Harry nodded, and Rose simply smiled. She felt a swell of pleasure at hearing his mother announce such a compliment. She wanted nothing more than to be the perfect wife to the man she loved so dearly.

"The duck is ready, mistress," Mrs. Bedwin said as she reentered the room.

The small party stood and made their way to the dining area, where sunlight streamed through the painted glass and displayed a variety of different shapes across the clean, white linen of the tablecloth. That table itself was laden with the duck and several samplings of fruit and light vegetables. A few tarts were arranged as well, and a fresh pitcher of lemonade sat in the center, three glasses already filled with the delightful beverage.

Throughout the meal, the group entertained one another with speculations over their return to London. They discussed the wedding in further detail, as well as all of the new developments in fashion that had been developed in their absence. Abigail Newman, the latest starlet and newcomer to the city, had already been presented and was seen in attendance at a great many gatherings. Her suitors, Harry's mother proclaimed, were surmounting daily.

It was Mrs. Maylie's own sister who had been consistently delivering all the latest gossip via several dozen letters throughout the season. Rose listened politely, though her mind wandered and she found her eyes drifting to the tablecloth to observe the dazzling plays of light.

When the time came for her Harry and his mother to depart for the evening, she stood, curtsied, and then blushed again as he reclaimed her hand for a kiss.

"Until tomorrow then," he said as he withdrew.

Rose nodded, awarding him a pretty smile, before bidding a good evening to his mother and standing at the door as the pair made their way down the small path and out onto the street, where they disappeared into their carriage.

"Your betrothed's manners are exceptional, miss."

Rose grinned and looked to her caretaker, "all properness and everything becoming of a young gentleman." She beamed even as she spoke of him and leaned her head against the door's frame, eyes continuing to follow his departure.

Despite the wedding being so near in date, the hours separating her from that blessed day felt incredibly numerous. Some days she felt she could barely maintain her patience.

Her eyes lifted to the sun, now sitting low in the sky as the lulling afternoon drifted by unhurriedly. A fluttering breeze carried across her gown, the feigning light glistening off the pearls at her neck. She then turned to Mrs. Bedwin and announced that she was going to take a stroll through the small garden.

The woman nodded and took to a seat on the porch, eyes observing the young lady dutifully. Rose smiled as she observed the familiar flowers and reached up to run her fingers across their velvety petals. There was something undeniably appealing about the untamed nature to be found on the new continent. Her uncle's garden at Brownlow estate was always well-maintained and perfect in its upkeep.

However, here, in this land of sunlight, the vines and blossoms were allowed to grow at their leisure, spreading whichever direction they favored. It was endearing and something she had never before been privy to witness. There was a sense of independence about it, a rebellious determination to resist conformity. It was enchanting.

There were just some things she would definitely miss about the place.


End file.
